


Cramped Quarters

by cielsdemon



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Humor, Implied Relationships, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cielsdemon/pseuds/cielsdemon
Summary: Person A and Person B get stuck in a closet. It's anyone's guess what happens next.





	Cramped Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, back atcha with some good old fashioned grelliam content. Please enjoy :)

"William..." 

  
  
"Don't." 

  
  
"I'm just _saying_." 

  
  
"Well _don't_." 

  
  
"I told you so," Grell hums, sounding smug. 

  
  
Will harrumphs. 

  
  
He shifts blindly and his elbow connects with something soft and Grell-shaped. 

  
  
"Ow! Just because I was right doesn't mean you should hit me," Grell pouts. Will can't see her but he knows that tone. 

  
  
Will can't see anything at the moment and neither can Grell for that matter. There is no light and barely enough room for two people in the utility closet they've gotten themselves trapped. 

  
  
Will is adamant about this being a joint problem; it is not his fault that they are stuck in here. 

  
  
"Sorry," he apologizes belatedly. "I was trying to determine how much room we have." 

  
  
Grell scoffs. "I could have told you that much, Will. Not enough." She shifts this time and it's through sheer luck that Will avoids being head-butted. 

  
  
"Be still," he hisses. One of his hands folds around Grell's upper arm. "There isn't enough room in here for your theatrics, Grell." 

  
  
"I'm just looking for a way out, William." She huffs and her breath blows warm across Will's cheek. Suddenly the room feels much smaller. 

  
  
Will clears his throat. "I don't think we'll find one. We may have to wait for someone to notice our absence and come looking for us." 

  
  
Grell groans and slumps as much as their limited space will allow. Her forehead rests against Will's shoulder. 

  
  
"That could take hours! I'm hungry. And these heels? Not meant for long term standing." Grell taps her foot.

  
  
"Maybe if you wore regulation shoes you'd be more comfortable." 

  
  
"Maybe if you slipped that stick out of your ass _you'd_ be more comfortable," Grell counters sharply. 

  
  
Will sniffs and turns his head to the side. "Is conforming to company standards really too much to ask?" 

  
  
"Oh, honey. I set the trends; I don't follow them." 

  
  
Will's eye roll is lost in the darkness. 

  
  
"Fine," he sighs, unwilling to allow this to turn into an argument. "Take them off if they are that troublesome." 

  
  
"And put them where?" Grell asks, leaning backward. She gestures wildly around the small closet, fingertips nearly smacking Will in the face. 

  
  
He catches her hand in one of his. "A shelf, perhaps, I don't know. Must you be so combative? I try to help and you do this." 

 

“Fine.” Will can hear the scowl in her voice. She tugs her hand from his grasp and drops it on his shoulder instead. She holds on tight as she lifts one leg and works her shoe off her foot. Once both feet are free, she carefully nudges her boots into one corner of the closet for safekeeping. “Don’t step on them.”

 

“I won’t.”  
  


Neither of them speak for the next several minutes. Grell occasionally huffs, shifting on her feet, or drops her head forward to thunk against Will’s shoulder. He stares ahead at the opposite wall, eyes having adjusted enough to see that only the wall beside them is covered with shelves. The others are bare but too close to allow the range of movement they would need to break down the door.

 

He racks his brain for a way out that doesn’t involve near maiming at the hands of Grell or her scythe and comes up depressingly low on ideas.

 

Sighing heavily, he shifts, nudging Grell’s head off himself. She makes a faint noise in complaint but does take half a step back. It doesn’t afford them any more space. She’s still close enough for their bodies to touch with every other breath.  


“Will,” Grell says softly against his chin, her breath warm and faintly coffee scented. Even before she continues, the mischief in her tone is audible. “Is that a pen in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

 

“It’s a pen,” he says flatly.

 

Grell snickers. “Is it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then you won’t mind if I check?” Grell doesn’t wait for a response before fitting her hand against Will’s thigh and feeling through his trousers. She squeezes the case in his pocket and makes a low, disappointed noise. “It is a pen,” she concludes morosely.

 

“Did you really think it was me?” he asks, amused.

 

“I had hoped that proximity to me had finally affected you! We’re stuck millimeters apart in a bloody closet, William. At least if you were aroused we would have something to do.”

 

“I’m having a very good time arguing with you.” Will can _feel_ the glare he’s receiving. “Frustration has always been our foreplay.” That has Grell puffing an amused breath against his neck.

 

They go quiet again, this time far more companionably. Grell lays her head back on his shoulder and her fringe tickles his throat as Will searches the closet yet again for a way out. Still nothing.

 

What can only be five minutes later, Grell tips back her head, groaning. “I’m so bor—” She cuts off with a sharp inhale and swats Will’s shoulder. Before he can complain, she’s pointing his attention upward.

 

“The ceiling tile. Will! I can fit in there, give me a boost.”

 

“Are you su— Ah.” Grell is already bracing both hands on his shoulders and heaving herself up, giving Will little option other than to grab her thighs and lift her. She clings for purchase in his hair, “Ow,” and slings a thigh over his shoulder as she shoves one hand at the tile.

 

A shower of dust falls on them and Grell coughs, hunching over Will’s head. Both of her legs have found their way over his shoulders, leaving him with his face trapped between her thighs, thankfully protected from the dust cloud.

 

“Can you reach?” he asks, muffled.

 

“Almost,” Grell grumbles, hooking her legs beneath his arms and stretching higher. Will sways, clinging onto the shelf beside them for balance. “Careful!” she squeals, one hand in a death grip on top of his head. “Lift me up, Will.”

 

He tries, hands beneath her thighs boosting her higher so she’s close to sitting on his head. Dust and bits of tile rain down on them as Grell punches at the ceiling, grunting occasionally and cursing under her breath. “Who put these damn tiles in?” she fumes, thwacking her palm against said tiles.

 

Voices precede the door flying open. Will would have heard them had it not been for Grell’s muttered curses. As it is, he does not hear them, and as such is frightfully unprepared for the blinding light of the hallway when the door is yanked open.

 

Grell curses creatively, flinching to shield her face. Will, with his face hidden between Grell’s thighs, has a moment to adjust and only squints as he peers over one leg to see who has come to their rescue. Half a dozen reapers – Ronald at the head of them – are staring back at him with their mouths hung open.

 

They look a sight. Ceiling debris covers them both from head to chest and that’s not even considering Grell still seated with her legs over his shoulders and her hands in his hair.

 

“Ronnie!” Grell cries and stretches her arms out as if she’s going to hug her junior, toppling their precarious weight in the process. “Oh, I’m so glad you came to save us.”

 

Ronald eyes their compromising position with nothing short of amusement. “Don’t much look like you need saving, Grell.” Grell’s cheeks heat brilliantly as she smacks out at Ronald’s head. He ducks, naturally, and Will has to grab hold of Grell’s backside to keep them both from falling over.

 

“William!” she squeals.

 

Will meets Ronald’s eyes over the top of Grell’s leg. “Take her. Now.”

 

Ronald reaches out, smirk firmly in place. Grell takes his hands and hops down, looking extremely poised for someone covered in half a kilo of plaster. She punches Ronald soundly in the side and tosses her hair as he hunches over, wheezing.

 

“What are you lot staring at?” Grell fixes the still ogling reapers with a narrow glare. Will places a hand on her shoulder as he leaves the closet, her boots in hand. The reapers in question – junior and senior alike – snap to attention upon seeing him.

 

“I’m certain Knox didn’t need an entourage to open a closet door. You’re dismissed, all of you.” They scatter, Ronald included. He does turn once he’s far enough down the hallway to be out of smacking distance and sticks his tongue out, waggling it obscenely. Will snatches the back of Grell’s shirt before she can fly after him in a rage.

 

“Do you really want to add blood to the list of stains you’ll need to wash from your clothes?”

 

Grell deflates and glances down at herself before turning to face him. “You’re right,” she sighs, like it pains her.

 

“I’m what?” Then, “Ouch,” after Grell swats him on the arm. He deserved that.

 

Will takes a moment to brush the worst of the plaster dust off himself and straighten his clothes. Beside him, Grell does the same. When they’re both looking decidedly less ghostly and Grell has replaced her shoes on her feet, he ventures a question. “Are you still hungry?”

 

Grell lifts a brow. “Why, William, are you going to take me to lunch?”

 

Will’s mouth quirks on one side. “If we’re seated together someone might think our appearance intentional; otherwise, I think we would look rather silly.”

 

Grell eyes him up and down for a moment, then laughs. “Sound logic, my darling,” she says, taking his arm. “Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> I live for kudos and comments.
> 
> Follow our [tumblr](http:/cielsdemon.tumblr.com).


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